A Turn of Events
by Timothandra
Summary: The war ends, and Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived, lives no more. Voldemort begins an immediate New Law that shakes the very foundations of modern society. WARNINGS: 18 , slave-trade, non-con, torture.
1. Chapter 1

The war was over. What had started so many years ago; a full lifetime, to some, ended with a simple curse. When the word had spread through the castle; the word that Harry had died, I couldn't believe it. I simply _wouldn't _believe it.

Something deep down had told me that he would wake up. That he'd do something incredibly ridiculous. But he wouldn't die. It just wasn't possible.

He was the boy who _lived_.

Unfortunately, that past tense correctly defines his life. He _lived_. But does not _live_. Harry never regained consciousness while laying in the arms of Hagrid, who's expression was one of a man who had lost the reason for his life. A man who had lost his purpose.

When he laid Harry on the ground, and clutched his face, trying to control himself, Voldemort's words became a blur, as did my vision. My mouth opened in silent horror, as tears slipped down my face.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I met Ron's equally teary eyes. I clutched the hand, and stepped closer, clinging to his shirt for dear life.

It couldn't have been true. It just _couldn't. _After all this time. All the effort. He was gone. Just like that.

But, inevitably, something had to be done. I felt the rise in determination as I looked up to look at the pale monster of a man standing in the center of the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentleman," his deep voice rang throughout the courtyard, "I am but a humble man. I offer you the opportunity and the gratitude that many would never give me. I give everyone of you the choice. You may step forward, and surrender to my ways. We will forgive and forget- on my word of honour, and you may start a new life of fame and fortune, or."

He paused for a long moment.

"Or. We will take you by force and have you charged to the full extent of the law."

"What law!" I cried, "your ways are nothing but cruel and volatile! Any law you create is a law worth protesting!"

Voldemort's mouth curved into a cruel smirk, and his eyes tightened.

"Hermione Granger, is it?" he asked, and I felt myself nod quickly.

Ron's hand on my waist tightened slightly.

"My dear," he said, "the act of taking over the world and controlling it are two different things. As I said; I am but a humble man. I have what I want now. I'm.. civilized."

"Like hell!" Ron yelled back.

His hand reached to his waistband, where his wand laid. As his hand touched it, he froze. Not like shock. But spell froze. I pushed him slightly and my eyes widened. I felt someone approach behind me and reached for my own wand in a hurry. But, I too, froze. I heard it this time. A small voice cast the spell. A hand reached into my sock and pulled my wand out. I was hopeless. Lost. I saw Voldemort watching the events with fascination.

"Behave," a deep voice said behind me.

I felt my body relax, and automatically turned and swung at the person,, only to have cool hands grip my wrists and bring them together. I looked at the person and gasped.

"Malfoy, you bastard!" I screeched.

He sneered, and turned my around, gripping my wrists behind my back.

"My Lord," he called, stepping forward, "I would like to surrender to you. With me, I bring a first of many captures."

Voldemort smirked, and turned to Lucius Malfoy.

"You have a very brave son, Lucius," he told him.

Lucius nodded, looked at Voldemort, and then looked at the ground.

"Tell me, Draco, why now?" Voldemort said with wary words, "from your glare a few minutes ago, I thought your side had been chosen. What has made you think differently?"

Draco paused.

"I think it best to fight for the winning side, my Lord," Draco said carefully, "with all due respect, for a while there, I was reluctant."

"And rightfully so," he said, "the mudbloods in Potter's army were particularly.. stubborn."

I struggled in Draco's grip for a moment, and I felt a swift and hard hand hit my head, and my vision blurred again.

"You fucking _bastard, _Malfoy," I sobbed quietly.

"I don't see any of your so called friends stepping up against me," he hissed in my ear, "in fact, they don't seem to be making a fuss at all."

His grip lessened for a moment, allowing me to shift my head and see his words were true. Every person in the group, except Ron, had their eyes to the ground, silent and in dismay.

With another sob, I fell to the ground, my knees hitting the concrete. Draco's grip lessened significantly, but I felt no desire to move, and no desire to fight. The surety left me, as did my friends.

"Very well," Voldemort said decisively, "Draco, you may mind her until the trial. I'm sure you have sufficient dungeons at Malfoy Manor?"

He touched my shoulder, and pulled my up to his side, less rough than I had expected.

"We have the room, yes," he says.

"Take her now, to make less of a fuss."

Within a second, I felt the movement of apparition.

Every emotion in my body hit me like lightning, and I crumbled to the ground. I cried for my best friend. I cried for Ron. I cried for Dobby. I cried for the loss of my friends. Every single nerve in my body felt like concrete, and I cried until my tears ran out.

I didn't know and didn't care where Draco was. I knew there was no escape. I only hoped for death, because anything else I'd get would surely be worse.

I didn't know how much time had passed when I heard movement behind me.

"Come on, Granger," the voice said softly.

A hand gripped my wrist and pulled softly, but I just couldn't move. I tried.

"Come on," he said, irritated.

"I- I can't," I said quietly.

He sighed, and released my wrist, which fell immediately to the carpet. I expected him to leave me laying there, with his arrogant impatience.

But I felt two hands roll under me, and I was lifted into the air with ease. I cried out, surprised. His hands adjusted their position, and I lifted my head to see his expressionless face, not meeting me eyes.

There was nothing mean about the way he held me, and there was nothing rough about the way he walked. He just.. did. There was nothing in it.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him, "you could have stepped up without a fuss. He still would have taken you."

He shrugged, and the movement shifted me.

"Figured I'd have a better chance of living if I did my proving now."

"Proving?"

He didn't reply, but I got the idea. As we approached the end of a hallway, I heard the clicking of heels on tiles.

"Drakey," a voice said.

I lifted my head, and my eyes widened.

"Pansy Parkinson?" I asked.

The girl curled her lip at me.

"Why the _fuck _did you bring the Mudblood here?" she asked Draco.

Her attitude was vomit worthy, and I felt my throat constricting. I glanced up at Draco, who remained unchanged. His pace never slowed.

"His orders," he said quickly, "leave her alone."

"Why? I can't hurt her even a little?" she sneered.

"She's to remain. Unharmed. Leave her be."

Pansy shrugged.

"I couldn't care less about her. I have things to do."

"I'm sure you do," he replied snidely.

I heard her clicking away, and I felt his arms shift uncomfortably.

"I- I can walk, if you'd prefer," I say softly.

"I'm fine," he says, "she just gets my teeth on edge."

"Why did you stand up for me?" I asked him.

"Because anything Pansy wants, I don't."

"Why is she at the Manor?" I ask, not even recognizing the fact that I should be silent.

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

I look away, and try to focus on the walls as we pass them. He sighs.

"She's a new recruit. Death eater. The mark can be painful in the beginning, so she wasn't allowed to join the heist."

"Heist?" I ask.

He smirks, "it's my nickname for the takeover. Nevermind."

I almost smile.

"The lucky bitch got away with troubled sleep."

"Was it worse for you?"

He meets my eyes for a fleeting moment.

"Yes."

The hall falls to silence, and I feel like we were almost there. The air tensed, and I expected to feel the descending of stairs. I had made many expectations, and, much like the others, it didn't come true. I heard the turning of a handle, and the squeak of an aged door. His arms loosened, and my heels hit the ground softly.

"Well, here we are," he said, stepping inside.

My eyes widened.

"I thought you were taking me to the dungeons," I said softly.

"I said we had the space. Your punishment hasn't been decided yet, so until then, you're a guest. This is my wing, so they don't have a say where I place you."

I walked around the room. It was what I compare to a very expensive hotel room. I looked around, but I couldn't see any bathroom door. Not a suite.

"Thankyou for this," I said.

I'm sure that if I was in my right mind, or thinking clearer, I would have avoided speaking altogether. But I wasn't. And all I could think of, was that things could be so much worse for me if he hadn't intervened and helped.

"I'm not on sides. I just enjoy life, Granger."

I walked over to the sofa, and took a seat. I watched as Draco pulled out his wand and started casting spells with unintelligible murmurs. I assumed it was protection spells to keep me in, and others out.

"Is there anything you want?" he asked after a few minutes.

"No," I replied.

"You sure? It's going to be a while, you'll probably be bored."

"Um," I said, squinting, "no. I'm fine."

He sighed, but didn't insist.

"Well, I don't know when I'll be back."

"Okay."

"I'll need your wand."

I didn't protest, but I made no effort to move. He walked over with another sigh, and plucked the wand from my hand.

He left without another word, and the tears resumed their freefall. I fell asleep curled up on the sofa.

Thus began the pattern of my time. There was no clock, no way to see the passing of time. It felt like eternity. Every so often, maybe an hour, maybe 10, a tray of food appeared on the end table by the bed. I barely nibbled at the trays, but my thirst was unending. As soon as I stood up and walked away from the tray, it disappeared. The first time I discovered this, I hadn't even finished with it. So I had to lay by the tray everytime I ate to ensure it wouldn't disappear on me.

Draco came by twice. Once, to allow me to go to the bathroom, and another to ask again if there was anything I needed. I had asked him about my friends, and his response was to leave the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.

It felt like a comfortable prison. I felt desensitized to everything. I simply couldn't accept the situation.

The third time Draco came, his expression was hooded and somber.

"Come on," he told me, as I watched his entrance from the sofa.

He gave me a look I didn't recognize. Almost a warning glare.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

He stepped forward and gripped my arm, pulling me roughly from the sofa. His hand pushed my back and forced me to stumble out the door.

I then understood his reasoning for being so unkind. Three masked death eaters stood, waiting, out the door.

I looked at the ground, and Draco pushed me into a walk. The halls were eerily quiet, the only noise being the sound of 5 footsteps moving in odd intervals. I glanced up at the death eaters, trying to name or identify them, but I couldn't. Suddenly, I felt a hand at the back of my head, a quick and rough tap.

"Eyes down," Draco's voice sounded harshly.

I complied, letting my head fall significantly. I had figured that he'd probably do his best to insert his authority; to almost show off. I had no care about it. Hell, I had no care for anything.

"Almost there, kitten," a bulbous voice echoed through a mask tauntingly.

I swallowed deeply, and kept my eyes to the ground.

We stepped through a small hallway, and opened a small door to what seemed at first as a large hall. It was, in fact, a makeshift court room. Rows of people, well dressed, and well posed people sat, their expressions wary and mean.

"Ah, at last," Voldemort's voice rang through the courtroom.

The three death eaters stepped away, and I felt Draco's hand push me forward.

"Keep quiet," he whispered in my ear.

"In line, if you will, Draco," Voldemort said.

I looked around as far as I could without raising my head. Voldemort sat at the front. The back lined a row of cloaked death eaters, one with striking bright blonde hair. On both sides of the room, either under watchful guard, binded or shackled, was my friends. I looked desperately for Ron, but I couldn't see him.

The crowd at the back of the room began to murmur, and I took the opportunity to talk.

"What's this all about?" I asked him in a whisper.

"Trial. You'll be sentenced."

"Where's Ron?"

He didn't reply, but we stopped walking suddenly. I looked up, my neck aching. I looked at the line of people ahead of me. One in particular, a boy I didn't recognize standing right in front of me. His pitch black hair and striking green eyes reminded me of the young Tom Riddle. I refused to admit any resemblance to Harry.

The boy nodded to me, with a wary expression. Almost a question. I nodded back, and forced a small smile.

"First," Voldemort's voice rang through, catching my attention.

A man stood up who was sitting to Voldemort's right.

"Luna Lovegood," the mousy man spoke with clarity, "charged with affiliation and aid to one Harry James Potter, resisting arrest and attempted harm of a death eater."

Luna was forced forward, to stand in front of the pedestal that Voldemort was sitting upon.

"Anything to say, Lovegood?"

"Not really," her feathery voice spoke, "but I would like to say that I didn't try to harm him. I tripped on a branch, and he took it the wrong way."

Her head looked over to the end death eater in a row.

"Sorry about that, I did try to tell you."

Voldemort blinked at Luna.

He cleared his throat, "does anyone wish to speak for her?"

The room rang in silence, and he nodded.

"Luna Lovegood, I sentence you to The Offering, and following a ten year sentence to Azkaban."

"Excuse me?" she said.

Voldemort blinked again, "what?"

"What is The Offering? I've never heard of it before."

The death eaters behind Voldemort all moved around suddenly, laughing amongst themselves.

"Silence," Voldemort commanded, and the sound fell.

"The Offering," he said slowly, "is a punishment of my own making. A group of men and women may step forward to claim ownership of you. The other sentence is a followup if nobody wants you."

"Ownership?" Luna asked.

Voldemort's wicked smile brought a shiver to my spine, and the shudder that ripped through my limbs couldn't be stopped.

"Some people call it slaves. I prefer the _professional _term."

Luna fell silent.

"Now that that's settled," he said, condescendingly, "I commence The Offering of Luna Lovegood."

He looked around at the crowd, and glanced behind him at the death eaters. The end death eater stepped forward.

"I request ownership."

"Ah, Keith," Voldemort said, "ownership granted."

The man called Keith lifted his wand and the mask disintegrated.

"I'm going to have fun breaking the calm out of this one."

His dead, cold words made me step back in shock. I accidentally walked straight into Draco, and I stumbled away quickly. I turned and met his startled look.

"_Slave trade?" _I mouthed to him, and he replied with a bewildered expression.

"Next," Voldermort sounded.

"Neville Longbottom," the mousy man spoke, "charged with the affiliation and aid of one Harry James Potter, resisting arrest, and the physical harm of three death eaters, Lucius Malfoy, James Pock and Bellatrix Lestrange."

_Go, Neville._

"Anything to say?" Voldemort asked, as Neville was forced to stand.

"No," he replied, his voice cold.

"Neville Longbottom, I sentence you to The Offering and following twenty years in Azkaban."

Neville didn't flinch, and didn't argue.

"I commence The Offering of Neville Longbottom."

A death eater stepped forward. Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I request ownership," she said snidely.

"Ownership granted."

"No," Neville said softly, as she stepped forward, and, gripping his hair, dragged him from the room.

I almost chased her. I tried to, but the first movement I made to step forward was immediately blocked by Draco's firm hand gripping my arm.

"Don't be foolish," he whispered.

He pulled me back to him, and stayed close and wary from then on.

Time went past, and more and more people were taken and claimed. Eventually, unable to take it, I turned around, away from the crowd. I couldn't hear it, I couldn't see it. I instead concentrated on the fibres of Draco's jacket. A deep, dark purple. It was almost black, but it wasn't. It seemed to change shades as it shifted in the light. The vest he was wearing beneath the jacket was black though. I could see the difference distinctly.

I spend what seemed like ages standing there, facing Draco, almost touching him, but seeming so far away.

"Hermione Granger," a voice rang around the room.

Draco stepped forward, turning me and pushing me towards the stand. When I had reached the stop, he stepped back near the crowd of people.

"Charged with association, affiliation, aid and companionship of one Harry James Potter, attempted murder of uncountable death eaters, the use of Polyjuice potion to replicate a death eater to gain access to private storage at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, to counts of resisting arrest, the refusal to give information to authorities when requeste-"

"That's quite enough," Voldemort said.

The mousy man retook his seat.

"Well well, _Hermione_," Voldemort said, "does one third of the Golden Trio have anything to say?"

"Nothing," my voice rang steadily.

"Very well," he hissed, "Hermione Granger, I sentence you to The Offering following life in Azkaban."

I swallowed deeply.

"I commence The Offering of Hermione Granger."

The voice was almost immediate. The death eater with striking blonde hair stepped forward. The recognizable voice of Lucius Malfoy spoke loudly.

"I request ownership."

Voldemort's smirk that followed was beyond cruel.

"Ownership g-"

"I request ownership," Draco said loudly.

The room fell silent. So silent, I could hear the breath of everyone in the room.

"Draco?" Voldemort asked with a raised eyebrow, "I didn't think this was.. your.. thing."

I could hear a shifting of clothing, to what I assume was a shrug.

"The mudblood makes me curious."

Voldemort smirked.

"Ownership granted to Draco Malfoy."

Lucius stepped back, and I felt a hand press my back, leading me forward. I follow the movement, and am lead out of the room.

"Well," Draco said to himself, "that went better than I expected."


	2. Chapter 2

"_Well," Draco said to himself, "that went better than I expected."_

"And what exactly did you expect?" I asked quietly.

"I didn't expect you to live through it. I didn't expect him to Offer you," he stated, grabbing my arm and feigning a resisted tug as we turned the corner and passed a cloaked man.

"And this is _so _much better," I hissed back, feigning another cry and pull as we passed more people.

He sighed quietly as we turned a corner. He released my arm.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To my wing," he said, "we won't be bothered there."

My stomach dropped, and a nervous, unsure feeling grew.

"What- what are you going to do to me?" I asked with a quiver.

"Nothing," he said, too quickly, "so long as you behave."

"_Behave?_" I gasped in protest, "I get captured by Lord-Fucking-Voldemort, sold to a _Malfoy _and you tell me to _behave._"

I didn't realize what was happening until I was pushed roughly against the wall, his eyes inches from mine. His hands hit the wall on either side of my head.

"_Listen, _Granger," he spat, "I stuck my neck out for you. I normally do not protest any action from my father. If _he _had taken you, do you think he'd give you an option?"

I flinched at every syllable. His words were loud in my ears, and my eyes were forced closed, my shoulders bunched.

"If my _father _doesn't think I'm able to control you effectively, then he will request a reverse in the acceptance. And he will take you. This is, of course, entirely up to you. If you want to act up and be the brat I know you are, go ahead. I won't stand up for you if the request is taken, and you'll never again see the light of day. I'm offering you a half life, rather than none. I can't guarantee freedom at all- in fact I _will _restrict it. I won't have a choice in that. But a half life is better than any life he offers you. Got it?"

I took a moment to consider his words, not moving. Slowly, I let my shoulders out, and opened my eyes. Immediately, I was met with his steely grey ones.

"What do I have to do?" I asked in a low voice.

"What I say. When I say it. Do _not hesitate. _Do _not argue,_" he said roughly, "I will not hold myself responsible for your actions."

I swallowed, looking away from him for a second. My eyes met the ground.

"Okay," I spoke, but it came out as a hollow whisper.

"Good," he replied, and straightened up.

He started walking away, and I forced myself away from the wall, and forced myself to walk with him. We walked in silence, his intimidating posture ever threatening. My eyes glued to the ground, he cleared his throat.

"I don't know," he paused, "what my father will do. I rarely- if ever, speak up against him. I know I didn't, but- I did something he won't be pleased with. He _may _order proof. Slaves in general are supposed to be treated harshly. I may have to- in public, of course, treat you like a slave. In your quarters, of course, I won't bother you."

"Won't _bother _me?" I snorted, "should I be so lucky."

"I _could _rape you, Granger," he snarled, "don't think I won't, should I need to show you how serious I am."

I fell silent.

"Here we are," he said after a moment.

I looked up, swinging my head around to observe my surroundings.

"This," he said, waving to a small, redwood door, "is your room. And this is mine."

He did a simple flourish of the double green wooden doors framed in what looked like white marble. I smirked, but force a straight face, as he lead me to what was my door. He opened it.

"Not at flash as your last, but it will do."

I looked inside, observing the double bed, sofa and basic coffee table. I noticed the bathroom door, and almost smiled in relief.

"If you want anything, ask, and I'll have it brought in," he said, "money is not a concern, so I don't care about what you do with it."

I nodded slowly, and glanced at his bedroom door.

"What do I have to- uhh, do?" I asked him slowly, avoiding looking at him.

"Mainly? Follow me around, doing small things that make my day easier. Usually 'go here do this' sort of thing," he said with a shrug.

His actions were always so nonchalant and uncaring. Part of me wanted to lash out and hit him until his attitude was wiped from his face. But I remained still. I locked my muscles, and waited.

"Well, this is your time. You'll most likely have to join me for dinner, but until then, you can do as you please," he said slowly, "anything you want now?"

I thought for a moment, and brought my head up.

"Ron was holding my- my beaded bag," I said slowly, "can I have it back?"

"I'll see what I can do," he said slowly.

"What happened to Ron?" I asked, trying to steady my voice.

His silence lingered in the air, and after a moment, he walked out the door and slammed it behind himself. I ran at it instantly, trying to pull at the handle, but it didn't budge. Magic.

I don't remember when I fell asleep. One second I had taken a seat on the bed, and the next second a hand was touching my shoulder, and I was jolted from sleep.

"Woah-" Draco's voice sounded from my side, "easy, Granger."

I sighed, and brought a hand to my face. I looked at him, and he awkwardly stood back and shoved his hands in his blazer pocket.

"Dinner time," he said slowly, "you've got to prove yourself."

"Prove myself?" I yawned, "_fantastic_."

"This is serious. My father is very mad," he said, and I forced a straight face.

"Can I clean up?" I asked him.

He sighed, loudly.

"Hurry up," he said quickly, and started towards the door.

"Wait," I said, and he paused, giving me a glare, "I need clothes."

"Oh, right," he said, shaking his head.

He reached into his pocket, and brought out my beaded bag. I beamed when I saw it, immediately standing and walking over to him to take it.

"I've taken out any potentially dangerous things. You've got books and clothes, now, mainly. Now hurry up."

He walked out the door without another word, and I hurried over to the bathroom door. I closed it behind me, and immediately opened my beaded back and reached in for my clothes.

After showering and brushing down my hair, I walked over to the main door, and knocked on it a few times. It opened and I walked through, following Draco's impatient steps.

"Remember," he told me, "head down. Do what I say. You'll be eating once the family and guests have been served."

"Guests?"

He gave me a look, and I swallowed.

"Oh, _guests_," I said slowly.

We reached what appeared to be two oversized doors. He pushed on one, and it opened automatically.

I almost gasped. Almost. A dining room table the size of the table in the Great Hall sat in the middle of the monstrous room. Every seat but one was filled with witches, wizards and death eaters alike. Behind every second or so person sitting was someone I knew from Hogwarts. Slaves. Each of them beaten to a pulp. Each of them cowering in place. I glued my eyes to the floor and concentrated on following Draco into the room.

_You can do this. It's just acting._

I pushed my feet forward every step, and when Draco sat down, I stood back in line with the others, my eyes not leaving the floor.

"Draco," a voice I assumed was Lucius spoke.

"Father," Draco replied conversationally, "my lord, good morning."

"Indeed it is, Draco," the slithering voice of Voldemort spoke, "how was she?"

"How was who?"

"Don't be daft, boy," the voice said cruelly, "the girl. Granger. How was she?"

"I don't know what you mean," he dared, "she was fine. I suppose."

"He doesn't mean her wellbeing, son," Lucius spat, "have you fucked her yet, or not?"

The room broke into an eerie silence, and I felt the muscles in my shoulders contort.

"I don't see how it matters-"

"It _does _matter," Lucius hissed, "if you're not going to treat her as a slave should be, then- my lord, I request-"

"I don't think your reasoning is fair, father. I didn't say I won't fuck her, I said I haven't," Draco spoke calmly, "besides, I don't believe it's your problem, she's mine, after all."

I didn't know what beheld me, but a strange, foreign _tingle _went up my spine at the words 'she's mine.' I remained quiet and still, but my eyes, for a moment, flickered to the back of his head.

His posture that of a bold, but threatened man. I swallowed.

"Very well," Lucius sighed, "just. Don't be foolish and treat her anything but what she is. A mudblood."

"Of course."

The rest of breakfast flew by. I listened intently as Draco spoke to many of the people across, and down the table. As I was told to step out of the dining room to eat, I was immediately bombarded by small, quiet questions from the others. The 'are you okay's and 'what happened's rang in my ears long after I left.

Draco had told me I was to accompany him to his work- in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement- previously a place where aurors captured death eaters, now the opposite. I couldn't help but glance at Draco's forearm as he pulled off his jacket.

"I expected my father to make more of a fuss," he told me, waving to the small sofa to the left of his desk.

I walked over hesitantly, and sat down.

"You should be safe for the time being," he told me, but I didn't respond.

There was a knock at the door, and Draco told them to come in. A large, burley man with what appeared to be low hygiene habits and a bad taste in clothing stepped inside.

"Mr. Malfoy," the man said, in his oddly deep voice, "it's good to have you back."

"Good to be back, Mr. Jenkins," he said slowly, "what can I do for you?"

"Oh," Jenkins bustled inside and dropped a file onto the desk, "Moody's family has escaped again. The Lord wants them recaptured. Said you might have some idea where they'd hide."

Draco shook his head after a moment, "I don't, but I'll look into it."

"Thanks," he said with a relieved smile.

Jenkins walked out, shutting the door behind him. Draco read silently, and suddenly lifted his hand.

"Go to the bookshelf," I snapped up in an instant and walked over, "second shelf down, third or fourth along, it has a roman numeral four on it."

I found it immediately, slipped it from the shelf and brought it to him. He took it without a word, and I took my seat again.

The days continued like this, as he silently ignored me, except for when he needed something. At one point I asked him if I could read some of the books on his shelf. They were mostly family histories, but some were muggle history, which he said was there for contextual reference.

He allowed me to read some, given that I showed them to him before I did. I began to enjoy our quiet days and afternoons together. I learned a lot about him- his family problems, which I got from the interactions, his interests and hobbies- even his friends, who I didn't like. At all.

Lucius, so far, had given Draco little to no trouble. He had 'given up' as Draco had said.

That was, until one night at dinner- almost a week after I had been sold.

He had followed us from dinner, and right before we had reached Draco's room, we heard him calling. Draco turned, uncaringly, and I, startled, looked up and met the eyes of the angriest Lucius I'd ever seen.

"Draco," he said, as he reached us, and pulled to a stop.

"Father?" he asked.

"I did a little test- a spell- on your little slave here," he said angrily, "and it appears that she hasn't fulfilled her duty."

"Her duty?" Draco asked.

"Indeed," Lucius confirmed, "she's still a virgin."

My stomach dropped, and I saw the muscles in Draco's arm clench.

"And? I use her for other services, I'm not interest-"

"I do not care for your _interests _Draco," he hissed, "I won't have your lack of balls getting in the way. Your actions have put down the Malfoy name; who knows who's tested her!"

"Nobody cares about whether or not she's a-"

"Stop making excuses, Draco," Lucius hissed, "you _will _do it, or, mark my words, I'll put in a request for a retraction. And don't think I won't."

Lucius turned and stalked away. His words pierced through me. Draco stormed off towards his room, and I followed him hurridly.

"What are we going to do?" I asked in a rush.

He didn't reply, but opened my bedroom door and motioned me in.

I knew that me being locked in my room meant trouble. I usually didn'pt go in until Draco wanted to sleep.

"Where are you going?" I asked as I stepped inside.

"Where do you think?" he asked, "I'm going to get completely smashed."

**A/N:**

**I'm really a 'see how it goes' planner; I don't have many plans for this story. If you have any ideas on where you think it should go, if I repeat a word (which I feel like I do- WAY too much), or even if you have a comment on how it's going- PLEASE review. If you ask a question, I'll reply to it in the next chapter.**

**Thankyoou. **


	3. Chapter 3

"_Where do you think?" he asked, "I'm going to get completely smashed."_

"No, you can't!" I cried, "there must be another way."

I felt a tingle of recognition at my words, but forgot them as he met me with a solid glare.

"Listen to me, Granger," he said slowly, "there is no possible way. I have to do this."

And with the slam of a door, he was gone.

Every nerve in my body was on fire for the next few hours. Every noise that I heard made every hair stand on edge. I almost fainted when the food _pop_ped into my room. I forced myself to eat for my health, but regretted it. I felt the food come back up soon after I had swallowed it, and had made a desperate dash for the bathroom.

There, next to the toilet, I cried. A full, shoulder-shaking, arm curling cry.

When I came out of the bathroom, the windows had turned dark. There was no sign of life anywhere else, and for the first time in a long time, I had given up total hope. I had decided not to try, and not to care.

Since the moment that Harry had died, every hope and every sign of life had been crushed.

I heard a door in the background, but I didn't flinch. I didn't move. I didn't care.

I stumbled over to the bed, accepting my fate. I lay down over the covers as I heard my own room door being opened. Q

I heard rough breathing, and the door swung shut again. The room was left in total darkness, and a slow purposeful step was heard on the hardwood floor.

"_Granger,_" a slow, deep voice called out in the dark.

I heard a loud bang and a stumble.

"_Shit,_" the same voice hissed in pain.

A few steps closer, and I could hear the movement and rustling of clothing.

"Are you here?" he asked me.

I felt my breathing stop, and tears spring to my eyes again. I was afraid. No doubt.

I heard a noise over the covers, and a hand slip over and grasp my ankle. I forced and even breath as he pulled off each shoe and gripped at the bottom of my jeans, pulling them away. I didn't resist, but I clenched my hands and swallowed deeply.

The bed shifted, and I felt his breathing over my neck. I couldn't see him, but I knew, he was positioned above me, threateningly.

A hand pulled at the buttons on my shirt, and he growled in frustration.

"Take this _blasted _thing off," he hissed.

I opened my mouth briefly, but shut it quickly, and brought my hands up to my shirt. My hand touched his, and I flinched softly, pulling at my own buttons with shaking hands.

After the last button had been undone, he pulled off my shirt roughly. With unsteady hands, he pulled off my bra and panties. I gasped quietly as his hand ran down between my thighs, parting my knees. For a moment, my knees recoiled and pulled together, but a rough grip of my legs had them parting again.

When he entered me, there was no emotion. There was no want, no lust, no _desire._ In a way, that fact had insulted me. The unwanted feeling that swirled in my stomach as he weakly thrusted into me made me feel worse.

The pain wasn't as bad as I had expected, but it was a constant reminder the entire time. It was a reminder that pain was just an attribute.

He groaned softly as he came, and I knotted my eyebrows as I felt the shooting feeling within. He panted as he lay on top of me, and I didn't move.

I wanted him off. I wanted him out. I wanted to cry more and then some. I wanted ice cream and peanuts and Crookshanks. I wanted to watch childrens movies until every aspect of bad was wiped from the surface of the earth.

But Crookshanks was with my parents; the parents that didn't know who I was. The mere idea of icecream and peanuts being given to a slave was laughable. This is where I was, and I would just have to deal with that fact.

I felt his lips touch mine briefly, and he breathed out loudly. He rolled off of me, and I heard his unsteady steps out of my room. The door shut, and I let out a breath I didn't know when I took in.

I lay and thought to myself for a while. But I knew, inevitably, I'd have to stop wallowing, and move on. I stood up, flinching at the slight pain that shot up my body.

I forced myself into the shower, and scrubbed at my skin until it was raw. I dressed myself in the snuggest, longest clothes I had, and curled up on the sofa, unable to face the bed.

Draco did not come for me in the morning. I knew he had work, but he didn't show up to take me. Despite the fact that he had raped me the night before, I felt oddly hurt at the act. We had built up a reliable routine, and I had no intentions of breaking it. I was enjoying the readings. I was enjoying having a purpose.

I picked up the clothes from the end of the bed, and packed them for cleaning. I pulled off the bloodstained sheets, feeling my hands shake like the night before. Eventually, I felt empty bile surface on my throat, and I spent another hour sitting next to the toilet.

After a long ponder on what I had left in my life- and the point of it all, I passed out on the sofa.


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn't bring myself to go to her then next morning. I stood out her door for several minutes before hurrying off to breakfast. I knew I should have brought her. It would have saved the questions I got.

"Where is the mudblood, Draco?" Voldemort had asked in his teeth-grinding voice.

"Yes, why have you not brought the girl?" Father piped up, eager to support whatever the snake said.

"She couldn't come this morning," I said slowly, keeping my eyes to my plate, trying desperately to ignore the looks I was receiving from half the table.

"And why could she not come?" Voldmort said calmly.

I forced my back to straighten and my eyes to raise. Despite the gripping fear I felt, I met my fathers eyes.

"She's too weak. She needs to regain her strength."

Some people at the table chuckled, and, as I glanced at the other slaves standing around the table, many of them glanced around, scared, many clutched their hands and some I saw begin to cry.

I quickly cleared the contents of my plate and stepped back.

"Good morning," I said with a nod.

I apparated to the Ministry and began a long and dreary days work. Every so often I felt myself glance over to her spot on the sofa, my stomach stirring and tingling with feelings I couldn't quite define. Around lunch time I realized that I could no longer concentrate without knowing.

I apparated home, and hurried to her room quietly, ensuring nobody knew I was there. I opened her door silently, looking around. I heard a heartwrenching cry come from the bathroom door and I walked over to see Hermione clutching the sides of the toilet, her stomach heaving as she threw up. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and her hair was frazzled beyond repair. I stepped back almost immediately, taking shelter on the side of the door.

I heard as she began to cry. She muttered a few names, and I heard her shuffle to the floor beside the toilet.

I couldn't move. I was frozen by the door as I heard the happy girl I had known for years cry her heart out in the bathroom beside me. Never had I seen her more upset. Never had I seen a girl so broken.

_And I did that._

I ripped myself from the wall and stepped outside, slowly closing the door. I stood there for several minutes, before heading back to work, where I would only think some more, and remain unproductive.

The sun had gone down when I headed back. The corridors were quiet, and from outside her door I could hear nothing.

I walked in, and used my wand to light the room. She was sitting on the sofa, in much better condition than earlier. Her hair was tamed, she had clearly showered, and her clothes were clean and neatened.

"Hi," I forced myself to say, unable to think of anything else.

She didn't respond, but I recognized the fear in her eyes when she looked up at me.

"Come here," I told her, trying to be as quiet and somber as possible.

She hesitated, before reluctantly standing and moving, facing me. She was a good few feet away, and I closed the distance.

Curiosity drove my hand to lift her shirt a few inches. I flinched as I saw what I was hoping I wouldn't.

Dark purple patches bruised across her waist. Hand prints.

_I did that._

My other hand lifted and my thumb grazed across the patch. She let out a soft cry and I dropped her shirt immediately, stepping back.

"I-" I stopped short. Was I really about to apologise?

"I can heal it, I have some paste in my roo-"

"No," she said too quickly, "no, I can let it heal- I- I don't mind."

I froze and looked at her, "but it's painful-"

"I don't mind," she said again.

I felt my hand drop, and I sighed.

"I'm sorry," I told her quietly.

Her eyes widened and she looked taken aback.

"If there was any other way- I wouldn't have," I said, "I hope you know that."

She observed me for a moment, before nodding softly.

"Let me heal you," I said hoarsely.

I thought for a while that she was going to ignore my question. She didn't answer for the longest while, she simply stared at me.

"Okay," she said quietly, her hand touching her side.

Relieved, I motioned her to follow me and we both stepped into my room, and I hurried over to my dresser, where I located and opened the paste. She sat down on my sofa and reluctantly lifted her shirt up to her breasts, and, despite her efforts, some of it kept slipping down.

"I can't- your shirt keeps moving," I say softly.

She swallowed deeply, and took a deep breath, before lifting the shirt over her head.

I pointedly ignored her very red bra, and concentrated on the bruises. After covering them in the paste, I saw the immediate effect. The bruises yellowed in color.

She grabbed her shirt and slipped it back on, before looking back up at me, her face a brighter shade of pink.

A few awkward, silent moments slipped by, and I cleared my throat and stood.

"We have to go to dinner," I told her.

"Why? We don't usually."

"It's Voldemort's last night here," I replied, "he's acquired his own manor, and he's been moving into it. Furnishings."

She snorted, and I automatically glared at her. She looked away, and her face turned sad.

I walked over to my own dresser and opened the cupboard, sifting through for my favorite black suit. I found it and threw it onto the bed.

I glanced at Hermione who sat there staring at me.

"Go change into something formal. Not fancy, just formal."

She stood up and walked out, and I quickly stripped off my clothes and pulled on the suit pants and looked for an oxford shirt. Sticking with plain black, I pulled it on, and noticed Herminoe had returned, standing in the doorway, hesitating. I noted her tight dark purple dress, and shook my head.

"You're a slave, not my date," I say jokingly.

Her face reddens, and she looks at the floor. I pick up my wand and move over to her, casting silent spells on the dress.

I changed the color to a black, and shortened it to her knees. I extended the fabric to cover her shoulders and nodded.

"All of the other slaves will probably be dressed up just as plainly, so it should be fine."

"Can you change it back afterwards?" she inquired quietly.

"What use would you have for a full length purple dress?" I asked her.

She was silent for a moment, and shrugged.

I sighed, and started buttoning the buttons on my shirt.

"Tie or bowtie?" I asked her with a smirk.

She blinked, startled.

"Uh, neither," she said sheepishly.

I let my remark linger in my brain as I pulled on the suit jacket, and slipped into the overly uncomfortable suit shoes.

I ran a hand through my hair and glanced at her again, checking everything over.

"The hall will be pretty busy tonight. Everyone he knows has been invited."

"So I'd better stay quiet and do as I'm told," she finished.

I nod and lead her out of the room.

The banquet, or, feast, or whatever was completely insane. The main hall was filled with chatter, and the dining table had to be replicated twice to fit everyone. The other slaves were, indeed dressed up plainly but formally. Many of them still had bruises on them, many of them had legs chained together.

Draco socialized most of the evening before dinner, and the entire time I stood close by, waiting for him to say something to me.

Often times my mind wandered in confusion. My mind wandered to the events earlier. How his thumb had brushed over the bruise he'd created. The pure contrast of gentle and rough. How close he'd gotten to me when he put the paste on.

How his shirt had hung when he'd slipped it on so carelessly. How I saw his chest move as he adjusted my dress with his wand.

When Draco had pulled me from my own mind, I felt my face turn hot, and I hurried to do what he'd told me to.

These.. foreign feelings felt unnatural. The sane, sensible part of me kept pointing out how less than a day ago he had raped me. How I was simply lonely and insane.

But the picture of him running his hand through his hair kept coming back, and my stomach swirled with emotions I was unused to.

"Well, well," a voice said closer than I expected, ripping me from my daydreams.

I turned and gasped, seeing how Lucius Malfoy had leaned down right by my ear.

Draco, in front of me, turned and saw the event.

"If it isn't the mudblood slut," he murmured, his eyes glinting.

My stomach curled and tears sprung to my eyes.

"Father? Is there something I can do for you?" Draco asked.

"Nothing of importance," Lucius replied without looking away from me.

"Hermione, come here," Draco said calmly.

I stepped over to him quickly, and moved behind his arm, looking back at Lucius before staring at the ground.

"You use her first name?" Lucius spat.

"Depends on the day," Draco said, carelessly shrugging.

"How dare you," Lucius hissed, "how dare you even consider treating her as if- as if she-"

"I've done as you asked, Father," Draco replied firmly, "she's no longer a virgin, as you wished. But she is also mine, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't intimidate her. That's my job."

Lucius didn't respond, and Draco's hand curled around my arm. He tugged me, and I stumbled to follow him.

As soon as we left the hall, he dropped my arm and we continued walking.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I saw his hand curl into a fist.

"No wonder you hate us so fiercely," he spat, not looking at me, "no wonder the bad guys are seen as so- so uncivilized. No respect for humanity. No care for life whatsoever."

I didn't reply, but let his words sink in.

"Their way of living may look- _look _like it's in a way normal, but beneath the skin they're monsters. All of them," Draco spat, and met my eyes.

It looked like a light had gone off behind his eyes, and he looked away.

"Sorry," he said, "I'm just ranting. Forget this, I'm just- just-"

"Ranting."

He nodded.

"It's okay, D-draco," I stuttered, "I know it's difficult, but it's okay. I'm okay."

"How can you be?" he said, suddenly stopping.

I stopped as he did, and he turned facing me.

"How can you be so willing to conform to this life? Hell, it's not even life!"

He stepped closer, and my breath caught in my throat as I stepped back into the wall. He towered over me, and as I lifted my hands to stop him, his hands came up and cupped my face.

"How can you be so resilient and strong? How do you now break down crying every single day?"

His eyes searched mine, as if trying to find that answer that even I didn't know. My hands came up and gripped his wrists, trying to not slide down the wall.

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

He smiled. A true, genuine full smile that I'd never before seen.

"Sorry for being strong?" he asked, and chuckled, "I _wish _I had your strength."

And then, he did the unexpected. He leaned down, and kissed me.

For a moment, I could do nothing but stand there, pressed against the walls with his hands on my jaw. But I felt myself start to move my mouth against his, and he stepped closer and deepened the kiss. My mind filled with a hazy fog that wouldn't lift. I couldn't form coherent thoughts.

I don't know why I kissed her. I couldn't possibly remember what created the urge to step forward, either.

I just remember feeling a powerful and distressing feeling so consume everything that she was. Her strength was beyond measure, and the fact that she could handle standing so close to my father was unbelievable as it was.

But I did. I pressed her against the wall, gripped her face in my hands and pressed my lips against hers. When she responded, I couldn't even help but deepen the kiss. My tongue traced the outline of her bottom lips, and I heard her moan softly. My hands moved down to her neck, and shoudlers, and her hands released mine, slipping around my neck and into my hair.

I didn't consciously do any of this. I couldn't think clearly.

My hands pulled her closer, away from the wall and slipped down to the small of her back.

When my hands moved over to her hips, my thoughts sharpened and a memory of a particularly hazy, dark night surfaced to my eyes, and the sound of sharp crying rang in my ears. Images of the bruising, the hurt, the pain flashed before me, and I ripped myself from the girls arms.

We were both breathing heavily, frozen in the corridor.

"This is wrong," I whisper hoarsely, "this is so wrong."

"What is?" she asked quietly.

"_This_," I said, motioning between us.

I knew immediately that she probably blamed herself, and I stepped further away.

"We better get back," I said, running a hand through my hair.

I tried to ignore the tears in her eyes as she nodded.


End file.
